


Sympathy

by darkling2222



Category: Filth (2013), Filth - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Sexual, Not really even romantic, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 05:34:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9867269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkling2222/pseuds/darkling2222
Summary: Amanda is trying to be kind.





	

There’s a quiet knocking at the door and then a women’s voice. 

“Bruce?” it takes his addled mind a moment to comprehend, it’s that bitch Drummond, probably here to gloat. 

“Go away.” He’s curled up on the couch in a filthy bathrobe, cradling a half empty bottle of whisky in his arms. He’s close to passing out, flirting with oblivion and hoping that it takes him. From the other side of the door, standing in the dirty snow, Amanda isn’t surprised. She came to visit as a professional courtesy to a colleague on medical leave but she had made peace that she would be walking into a brawl. 

“Bruce, please let me in.” Drummond is an obnoxious intrusion into his attempt at unconsciousness. He hears her try the door and he prays that he remembered to lock it but it opens and she walks in. He doesn’t move from his spot, beyond caring what she thinks.

“Bruce, honey.” Her voice is soft and he can’t help but cringe at the obvious disappointment in her words. There’s so much of him that wants to lash out at her, fighting her and her pity, forcing her away. But he’s too tired, too drunk, he just shuts his eyes. Amanda sits down on the side of the couch beside him, “When’s the last time you’ve eaten anything?” he knows the real question she wants to ask is “when’s the last time you were sober?” but either way he doesn’t answer, doesn’t even move. “Can you sit up?”

“Get out.” His voice is slurred, hoarse with disuse. Bruce is so utterly pathetic and that’s the only thing keeping her here. He’s cruel and depraved and by all rights she should leave him to rot in this house that’s cold and empty and strewn with garbage. He’s hit rock bottom and it’s so pitiful that she wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt if she didn’t at least sit with him for a while. 

“No, I’m not leaving just yet.” She looks around the room, noting the mess of empty beer cans and general stink of rot, of human decay. Bruce watches her face, expression flitting to a pitying disgust as she reaches out to stroke his greasy hair out of his eyes and he half-heartedly swats at her hand. “Come on, up now.” Amanda takes his hand and helps pull him to sitting. He watches her with empty eyes, nearly mindless. 

“Please go… get out…” he sways drunkenly, pulling away from her weakly, pushing her away with clumsy hands “Get out, leave me alone.” He doesn’t want to see anyone, he just wants to drink until he dies. She places her hands on his shoulders, steadying him. Bruce’s head lolls limply to the side and she sighs, damn her bleeding heart. 

“It’s okay, honey, come here, come here.” she drops her voice to a soft coo, the tone you take with children, soothing as she pulls him into an embrace. His drunk mind has shut down beyond the most rudimentary reactions, stimuli and reaction, her comfort is soft and gentle and it’s enough to quiet him. He doesn’t have the energy to fight so he leans into her, resting his head on her shoulder. She smells clean, not like all this filth, not like him. 

He can feel her rubbing his back, “There we go, it’s okay.” Her words are gentle and he wraps his arms around her, pulling her closer to him. “There we go, that’s better.” He sighs deeply into her hair, gripping her tightly, desperately. Amanda’s soft and warm how women are and he doesn’t want to let go of her. Another ugly part of him wants to force her down on the couch, force himself inside her, take her roughly and then cast her out. But again, drunken exhaustion intervenes and he can do little more then hold onto her. He feels so dizzy and nausea crawls up his throat.

“Sick… gonna be sick…” 

“Okay, sweetheart, okay.” she pulls the wastebasket from the side of the couch closer and guides him to it and he retches. His diet has been almost exclusively liquid these past days and the vodka burns as much coming up as it did going down. “There we go, it’s okay, we’re okay.” Amanda says as she rubs his back up and down, turning her head away to keep from throwing up herself. She knows the meaning of her words don’t matter, all that matters is that her tone stays soft and gentle. He dry heaves, body desperately trying to remove the poison he’s ingested. He pulls back finally, panting, chest heaving. His body has been so abused that throwing up is as strenuous as an Olympic event. His voice has slurred into incomprehension, he looks over at her, blinking hard, trying to focus half-shut eyes. He only word she can discern is Carole.

“Time to sleep, little one, time for bed.” Amanda is careful to speak gently and keeps her words simple, guiding him back to laying on the couch. She heaves her purse over her shoulder as she gets a blanket from the chair across the room and pulls it over his shoulder. 

“G’night…” Bruce sighs, curling up under the blanket, hugging a couch pillow to his chest like a child. For a moment, she stands by the couch and looks at him. She had expected a fight from today, hoping to maybe find another reason to hate him and get rid of any nagging sympathy but now it’s worse than ever. There’s an instinct in her to help him, save him, but she sighs and turns to leave. She knows beyond a shadow of a doubt, as she steps back into the harsh Scottish winter, that he’s beyond any salvation she can offer.


End file.
